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by Araloth the Random
Summary: First, Legolas was an Elf.    Second, there was a part of him, and I didn't know how dominant that part might be, which wanted to kill me.    Third, I was unconditionally, irrevocably, iridescently and vacillatingly obsessed with long words.
1. Moving To Sporks

Hello! After a few months I am now back to writing LotR parodies again. This is a Twilight-style parody in which poor Legolas once again has to deal with the horrible Mary Sues I throw at him. :P

Once you get to the end of the chapter, please click that little link that says 'review'. I value each and every one of your opinions and love to hear what you think. :)

~Ara

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**Highlight**

_First, Legolas was an Elf._

_Second, there was a part of him, and I didn't know how dominant that part might be, which wanted to kill me._

_Third, I was unconditionally, irrevocably, iridescently and vacillatingly obsessed with long words._

When Maribella Suell moves to the gloomy, dreary, moribund, grey, depressing, dismal, bleak, cheerless town of Sporks and meets Liam Greenlee, she has absolutely no idea what she's in for. Determined to uncover his dark secret, she finds out that Liam is none other than the legendary Legolas of Mirkwood, representative of the Fellowship…and also her biggest lust object.

Prepare for an extraordinary tale of unrequited stalking, bad fanfiction, unsuccessful murder attempts and general chaos as Maribella discovers just what it takes to drive Elves completely round the bend…

-o-

**Moving To Sporks**

Somewhere—it does not matter exactly where—is a small, inconsequential town that goes by the peculiar name of Sporks. In taking me away from it my mother bravely snatched me from the jaws of death. Nearly every summer was one in which I was forced to spend at least a month in this town with limited internet access and nearly nowhere to plug my pink, scintillating hairdryer without risking electric shock.

I destested Sporks. The name was so tacky.

And yet this was where I was headed in the car with my dad Billy-Bob, who fully appreciated and sympathised with my utter despair and allowed me a few moments of quiet in which I was allowed at last to give full vent to my desire to die. For life was not worth living without a mall within walking-distance. I was a girl of simple tastes. But this was too much.

In a display of true selflessness—at least, this is what my mother called it, because I don't ever exaggerate—I had immolated myself upon the altar of Goodbye to Facebook and exiled myself here, in the hopes that Mum and her new husband Fritzel von Scnitzelberger would be happy.

Crystal-like tears filled my eyes when I remembered my heartbreaking past, which when I narrated to some passers-by in the city caused them to cry. "What the hell is this world coming to?" wailed one man before walking away, shaking his head miserably, and in memory of this I nodded bleakly, wiping away surreptitiously at my eyes. Obviously he understood my plight. After all, barely a few years ago I had nearly been stabbed to death by my jealous older sister with a butterknife, had my iPod stolen, yelled at for not doing my homework, and run over by a horse trailer.

A sob caught in my throat. I couldn't help that my hourglass figure attracted attention and jealous looks from everyone around me.

I couldn't help that my eyes were twin pools of sorrow that reflected my sensitive and selfless nature in their azure, cerulean depths framed by thick, curling eyelashes that needed no mascara.

I couldn't help that I had midnight-black hair that shimmered and sparkled like the light of twinkling stars on a crystalline lake surrounded by green hills cloaked with white flowers beneath an indigo-dark sky that held suspended in it the tiny lights of the most ancient of days and which was streaked with natural blue highlights that ran like rivulets towards rocks worn by the waters of time and spilled over in a fall of glistening diamond droplets.

My highlights were always the first thing people noticed. When I told them that they were natural, their surprise was only augmented.

But I never wanted to believe that I was beautiful, because I wasn't. I was so plain. The bright eyes that took up nearly half of my face—they were too big, so that was a flaw in my character—and which shone with a soft silvern light reflected in the side mirror were nothing special. Modesty was always one out of the myriad virtues of my generous nature.

Heaving a sigh that was imbued with all the sorrow of the world my gaze then fell upon the copy of _Lord of the Rings_ that was hastily shoved into the glove box of Billy-Bob's car.

Then I heaved another sigh that was permeated with love and admiration as I thought of Legolas, the Elf whose screen time in the movies that Tolkien directed had only served to increase the choices of Potential Boyfriends I had.

And I heaved another sorrowful sigh yet again when I realised he wasn't real. I would have to content myself with going out with the most popular guy at school, who was extremely attractive by mere Mortal standards.

My life was so unfulfilling. Though it served me well during this journey of angst and sadness, the half-empty and crumpled Kleenex box held together with duct tape would never be able to wipe away every tear I shed for the meaninglessness of my life. What was life without Elves?

We reached the house of Billy-Bob—or Dad, because that was who he was, but I feel like calling him Billy-Bob—and both of us clambered out: me to escape the awkwardness, and Billy-Bob to escape the blinding light of my beauty which the small space the car afforded could not contain. Sitting in the driveway was a brand new Volkswagen Polo.

"So, Maribella," said Billy-Bob.

"So, Billy-Bob," I said.

"I got a car for you," said Billy-Bob, unnecessarily, given that we had both been staring at it for the past four minutes.

"Did you get me an Elf?" I countered, in a very humorous way. I always hide my sadness behind jocularity. And long words.

Billy-Bob gave me a confused look, and after a moment responded, "I got you a radioactive custom number plate. It's made of uranium," he added proudly.

And indeed on closer inspection I found that there was indeed a custom number plate attached to both the front _and_ back of the car, God bless the man's soul. Technically it was a letter plate, I thought, because it only had letters on it. People always did say that my intelligence was remarkable. The letter plate bore, in bold capitals:

MARI - SU

Tears filled my eyes again at this revelation. It was so thoughtful of him. That was my favourite nickname. My other nicknames included Emerald, Aaliyah and Celestia, but this was above all my preferred one. Maribella Suell was such a plain name.

"Thanks, Billy-Bob," I murmured as I reached up and gave him a hug, happy about the letter plate but not wanting him to know that I was disappointed with the car. I'd wanted a Citroen. But through my selfless nature I inwardly forgave him his transgression, for he could not have known that a mere Volkswagen would fail to please me. No sense in us being miserable together.

Suddenly a car roared around a corner, causing me and Dad to jolt apart. I fell back onto the road in my moment of humiliating clumsiness, nearly bursting into tears again because I knew that any good opinion Billy-Bob had formed of me would be gone. Who would want a daughter who was clumsy, good-for-nothing and couldn't even manage to make sure that her makeup remained un-smudged in a fall?

The car was speeding and had no intentions of stopping—or so it seemed. Briefly, I contemplated quickly standing up and holding up my hand, chanting aloud the magical words, "Auta miqula Orqu!" and so blinding the driver with my powers that the car would stop.

But I found I couldn't get up.

I braced myself for a meaningful, selfless death to make up for my useless life but in a rare display of courage that only I was ever capable of, Billy-Bob reached out and pulled me back. I smiled. I knew he must've gotten it from somewhere. I was unharmed, and the silver Volvo rushed past, showering many droplets of chocolate-brown mud all over us. Fortunately I used my powers to deflect it, but Billy-Bob evidently couldn't protect himself from the Volvo's rage and was covered from head to toe in mud.

Knowing that Billy-Bob would try to make me happy here, I skipped along inside, allowing him to go back to his own car and unload the ten duffle bags, two laptops, a DVD player, my box of low-fat snacks, a refrigerator filled with healthy dinners that I could simply heat in the microwave (I was an excellent cook—everyone always said so), a pink deck chair, half a shelf of books I had ripped out of the wall, my goldfish Legolania and an Oxford Thesaurus.

I waited until night time to really cry, because I always knew that crying at night is more melodramatic. But Billy-Bob understood I needed some quiet time to myself, and didn't interrupt me even when I started screaming and throwing bits of fruit into the next door neighbour's backyard at two in the morning, gracefully tossing them up and hitting them with my cricket bat, watching them explode into squashy pieces.

I sobbed uncontrollably once I crawled back into bed for a few hours' sleep. _Oh, Legolas_, I thought, _where are you when I need you?_

And yet I could feel, deep in my heart, that he was somewhere. That there were Immortal Beings in this world who would choose to live here just to be close to me. The thought was very comforting.

The next day I went to school.

I drove there with my polished silver Volkswagen, slowly, so that I wouldn't draw any attention. But, as always, it was my curse to be noticed wherever I went, so I felt many eyes following me as I circled five times to find a park.

I passed a familiar-looking silver Volvo, and sniffed disdainfully. How dare that rude driver try to run me over.

I walked to the main building. I could tell it was the main building because it said "MAIN BUILDING" in capital letters over the door. Except, some of the letters were missing so that it said, "M IN DING". I was always great at decoding Chinese.

I walked over to the receptionist. She must have been expecting me and had already heard of the fame of my beauty, because she didn't look at all surprised, sitting back in her seat and chewing gum in a nauseatingly horse-like way. A disgusted look was fixed on her features. Obviously there was someone behind me whom she didn't like.

I turned around to see who the person was, but I couldn't see anyone. My breath hitched. There must have been fast-moving individuals around here. Maybe my suspicions of last night were correct.

"So," said the receptionist in a very bored voice, which indicated that she was disappointed at not being the first person in Sporks to see me. All that jealousy loaded into one syllable.

"I'm Maribella Suell." I provided my name, adding in a little giggle that always charmed people and alerted them immediately to my intelligence. "I love Lord of the Rings."

"Mm-hmm," muttered the receptionist. She shoved a paper in front of me, which I was about to autograph, before I realised it was a timetable. How kind of her to print off a timetable, just for me.

I wandered around, using my seventh sense to guide me to the room where we had English. As soon as I opened the door, a boy fell at my feet. He was good-looking, but I reserved myself only for Immortal Beings, not mere Mortals.

I was about to very kindly tell him to arise but he looked up, scrambled to his feet, and raced back to his desk, not even looking in my direction again. I smiled sadly. My beauty and aura of wisdom must have terrified him.

A few girls talked to me, but they weren't important enough for me to remember any of their names. So I smiled vaguely and nodded at their chatter, pitying them for their low IQs.

There was one girl whose name I remembered, because it started with L, which is what Legolas' name starts with. Her name was Laura. We went to the cafeteria together and sat down. I munched on my carrot stick, which was filled with the goodness of carrots. Laura kept talking.

I selflessly put on a face that would at least look as if I were listening to her prattle, because I didn't want to hurt her feelings, and stared past her. It was then that my wide blue eyes, sparkling like rippling waters, caught sight of…_them_.

Laura turned around to see what I was so subtly looking at. She muttered something under her breath.

"Who are they?" I asked.

"Right. Here we go," sighed Laura. I wondered if she had to explain this a lot. "That one, the one with the long black hair and goth clothes, is Matt Kinslaye. The guy sitting next to him is Darren Minstrel. They're both musicians and they're always arguing over who's better, but they're good friends." I noticed the longing look she had on her face as she spoke of Matt. "The girls are Miranda del'Arbor—that's the one with the brownish sort of hair—and Nia White."

I decided to use some of my humour. "Matt and Nia must've made some sort of colour pact. He wears black, and she wears mostly white."

Laura just stared at me, probably too much in awe of my witty remark to laugh.

But I ignored her. It was the nameless blond boy who captured my attention. I knew instantly that we had a cosmic connection.

"And that," said Laura, as if she could read my thoughts, but I knew she couldn't, because I was always hard to read, "is Liam Greenlee."

_Liam Greenlee_. My mind sighed his name like a breath of air, gusting down from mountains capped with snow whiter than white.

"Some of them go to this school," continued Laura, "but some of them go to the uni campus across the road. We all share this cafeteria, so you might see uni kids around here from time to time."

I smiled, knowing that from now on my life was inextricably linked to these people, even though not one of them had physically spoken to me. It didn't matter, because our souls had spoken to one another. In Elvish. And Arabic.

But my good day went downhill from there, because the next class was something with a name I didn't remember because it wasn't important enough. I tended to filter out anything that wasn't important.

I was late, because I had been standing for fifteen minutes in front of the mirror in the toilets, so the only seat left was next to Liam Greenlee.

This should have been good. But when I sat down, he slowly moved right to the edge of the table, not even looking at me. I wondered what it was I had done to offend him. I had sprayed some Estée Lauder, Britney, Chanel, disinfectant and Windex on me before leaving the house this morning in order to create an exotic and fruity scent (the latter part mainly caused by the cantaloupe—rockmelon, if you prefer—that I'd been throwing last night). I was offended, and angry that Liam was staying as far away from me as possible, as if I smelt bad.

When I looked up at him, his eyes were like steely ice that bored into me with consuming hatred.

As soon as class was over, Liam Greenlee stormed out, without even looking at me or asking for an autograph.

I was so furious and hurt that I decided another graceful fruit-throwing session would be in order.

-o-

**Coming up next: In the house of the Immortal Beings—and how they will deal with the intrusion of Maribella Suell.**

**And can you guess which 'human' name belongs to which Elf? ;)**


	2. An Elven Interlude

**An Elven Interlude**

With the silent Elven skill that had never left him no matter how many long millennia he had spent among Mortals, Legolas quietly opened the door of his bedroom, carefully closing it behind him so that the noise was not much more than a muffled snick. Instead of joining the others after school, he had disappeared to be by himself and get over the shock of finding one of…_them_ in Sporks, of all places. He knew everyone would want to know exactly what was going on with Maribella and did not feel up to putting up with Celeborn's incessant questioning. The Elves took the Sues that came their way very seriously. They could do a lot of damage if left unmonitored.

_I honestly don't understand_, he thought to himself as he tiptoed his way down the wooden stairs. _Why would one of them move here? This is back country. The only thing here for Mortals is the university campus, and Sues are generally not well-known for a love of learning._

He came to the doorway of the dining room, where the other Elves with whom he lived were finishing their dinner or doing rather un-Elvenly things like slouching on the arm chairs. Centuries of living among Men had given all of them a few quirky Mortal characteristics, especially since the beginning of the twentieth century. Ordering pizza, checking Facebook updates—and dressing like Mortal teenagers, among other things—was all a part of their lives.

Legolas came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of a familiar pair of booted feet sitting on the mahogany table, and inwardly groaned. He was certainly not in the mood for Glorfindel. _Why did he have to come home early?_ he thought despairingly. Glorfindel, Mithrellas and Maglor—all known by the Mortal names of Gerard, Miranda and Matthew—masqueraded as university students and attended the country campus across the road from the high school. Most nights they came home later than the others.

"Most" being the operative word.

Glorfindel was twirling his fork around idly, his finished plate of spaghetti in front of him. "I must say," he began, "for a Mortal cuisine, this is quite good."

Cahir O'Neill, who in ancient times was known as Lord Celeborn of the Golden Wood, raised an eyebrow in the famed Balrog-slayer's direction. "And here you were complaining that spaghetti was messy and tasted bad."

Glorfindel leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach contentedly, ignoring Celeborn as usual. "May I remind you that you would not eat Chinese for years until the night you were hungry and ate nearly six boxes?"

The only response from the Elf-lord was a grunt, which made Glorfindel roar with laughter. Daeron jumped, startled out of his reverie near the window and nearly dropping his guitar. His music stand toppled over and sheet music flew everywhere. He fixed an annoyed look upon the golden warrior, at the same time bending down to pick up his music.

"You," he grumbled, "have _got_ to stop laughing so loudly."

The look on Glorfindel's face was nearly repentant, but knowing him, he was not feeling in the least bit apologetic.

Legolas seized the opportunity to stalk into the room and get his dinner without having questions fired at him, but all the Elven eyes in the room were distracted from what they were doing to follow his movements.

Celeborn was merciless.

"You cannot still be sulking because you failed to run her over yesterday."

"Much as I would have liked to do so, no, that is not the reason." Legolas sat down slowly, restraining himself from scowling at the erstwhile Elf-lord. Sulking, indeed. "No, it is the fact that this—this _thing_ is stronger than I thought."

"How so?"

"Well…" The blond Elf rubbed the back of his neck hesitantly. Sometimes he still froze in shock when he felt his comparatively short hair, which before had been long and silken and was now slightly wavy and brushed against the collar of his school shirt. "She is quite typical for a Sue, but there is always something about the so-called typical ones…I have no idea…" He sighed.

Nimrodel, known more commonly to the people of Sporks as Nia, spoke up then. "Typical? I would have thought she were one of those 'special' ones whose only wish is to be the same as everyone else, et cetera, et cetera—"

"Aye, Nimrodel, but that does make her typical in a way, does it not?"

Nimrodel tilted her head to one side. "You have a point."

There was a snort from Daeron. "I would be willing to bet my harmonica that she's into _Lord of the Rings_."

"I protest. I liked _Lord of the Rings_," put in Glorfindel indignantly. Maglor rolled his eyes.

"That is because _you_ were the one who spun that yarn to the Professor. Half the things you told that poor soldier during the War were barely truth at all."

Glorfindel's grin suddenly gave way to an unusually serious expression. "He was a perceptive young man. He must have had Elven or Númenorean blood in him, for despite the fact that our history was long forgotten he somehow guessed much of who and what we were. When he asked me to tell him more, the half-truths I gave him were for the sake of our own survival."

Silence descended upon the company of Elves. Their survival in a world where Men ruled was ever before their eyes. Over the years it had become easier in some ways to disguise themselves, to avoid letting certain words and actions slip that could not be undone. For a long time they had lingered along the coastal towns of Britain, sometimes crossing to Ireland and back over the centuries, because the people there did not notice or care that the strange and beautiful wanderers did not really seem to age.

Now, with the pervasiveness of modern technology and transport, it was getting harder to hide from the world. For years they had managed but only now were they threatened by the insatiable curiosity of Men. The presence of a Sue more powerful than they had faced in years only made things more difficult. Who knew what kind of stupid things she could do that would draw attention to their existence?

It was Legolas, oddly enough, who broke the uncomfortable silence. He remembered having to sit next to Maribella in the last period. He buried his head in his hands and chuckled.

"What is it?" Celeborn sounded concerned for Legolas' mental health—and probably with good reason.

Legolas snorted. "She smells like she had bathed in water filled with every household cleaning product known to Man. And then copiously doused herself with fruit juice. It was an awful combination."

The door burst open and several of them jumped. Mithrellas had kicked it open with one black boot and was carrying a tall pile of books and papers, which was promptly dumped without ceremony onto the couch next to Maglor. The Fëanorion dressed as a goth cast a cool glance at all the university student paraphernalia and looked up.

"Would you kindly remove your crap and put it elsewhere?" he said politely. Celeborn's eyebrows shot up at Maglor's choice of language. Again, for good reason. There was a snigger from Glorfindel. Mithrellas ignored all of them.

"So?" she said, sitting down next to Legolas with feline grace and pointedly paying no heed to sound of Maglor shuffling her papers. "What is happening with this Mary-Belle of yours?"

"Maribella," sighed Legolas, feeling rather depressed again, "and she is certainly not mine."

The elleth turned to Glorfindel. "Is she really that bad?"

He leaned back in his chair and yawned. "She is a Sue. Must you ask?" Turning to Legolas, he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It will not be impossible to defeat her. We have faced far worse before."

"That is precisely what I am worried about." Legolas stood up. "It has been years since we have faced worse than her. I can practically read her thoughts, as all of us can with Sues because their thoughts are few and transparent, and there is nothing there which could possibly redeem her."

Maglor sat up and looked thoughtful for a moment, which seemed rather odd when compared to the usual impassive gothic stare he wore among Men. "I have not detected anything extraordinary in that urple aura of hers," he said. "Usually once Sues move in, they try to take control of everyone else. Nothing of the sort so far has happened. Most people seemed to be immune to her charms today."

"Yes, most, but not all, Maglor. Did you see the male half of the Year Twelve class staring after her with that vacant, lovestruck look after sixth period?"

"Well, what are we waiting for? The solution is simple," said Daeron suddenly, allowing the more savage side of his poetic minstrel's soul to take over for a moment. "She is irredeemable and has not done too much damage yet. Let us do away with her and have it over with while we can."

"I am afraid it is a little more complicated than that," came Galadriel's quiet but clear voice as she entered the room. Even wearing an apron that was bespattered with spaghetti sauce, she managed to look just as beautiful and regal as the Lady of Lothlórien so many millennia ago. Despite diminishing and remaining Galadriel, she had certainly not gone into the West. Celeborn's face instantly brightened when his eyes alighted upon her.

"How so, meleth?" he asked, curious.

Galadriel, as always, took her time in answering. Hanging her apron onto a hook, she came and sat next to her husband. She cleared her throat after a moment. "Do any of you know under what circumstances Sues are spawned?"

"Er…by an overactive and immature imagination incapable of preventing self-insertion into narrative?" guessed Daeron.

"That," said Galadriel with a smile, "but they are also created to be at a certain age. They have no beginnings. At least, most of them do not."

"So…you are saying that Maribella actually has a beginning?" asked Maglor. "But how would that work?"

"Maribella has had her story told from the moment of her birth by her creator," explained Galadriel, apparently not noticing the look of confusion that was written on most of the Elves' faces. "Instead of being spawned at the age of fifteen and inserted into an otherwise perfectly good narrative continuum, for some reason she was born human. Or at least to reasonably human parents."

"You know what? I really do not understand any of this," grumbled Daeron peevishly. "Why can we not simply run her through? What has this all got to do with her actually having a life prior to arriving in Sporks?"

Legolas glanced quickly in Galadriel's direction. Sitting silently and with only a slight smile turning her mouth up at the corners, she was allowing everyone else to work it out for themselves. It was just like her.

With mock exasperation Maglor lifted his eyes—which, it must be noted, were heavily outlined with black eyeliner—to the ceiling and said in as condescending a tone possible, "Her previous life means that her existence will have been established in all government records. If she goes missing, the attention of the media will be attracted to Sporks, which is where we live, am I correct?"

The other musician looked annoyed and was about to retort when his eyes lit up with sudden comprehension. "There will be investigations, and we may be revealed," he said slowly. "But how then will we rid ourselves of her?"

Only then did Galadriel speak up. "A Sue such as this can only be killed in the zenith of her power," was her only comment.

Even Glorfindel looked as if he were deeply in thought. Legolas nervously ran a hand through his short-ish hair and hoped to Udûn that someone would come up with a solution soon, because he very well could not see one.

"Maybe…" murmured Mithrellas. "Maybe we should actually _let_ her take over Sporks, and then get rid of her."

"What?" Irritated, the former prince of Mirkwood glared at Mithrellas. "Let her take over Sporks? Let her use any one of us for her foul purposes? Are you insane?"

"I like to think of myself as innovative," Mithrellas shot back.

"Now is not the time to fight," said Celeborn gravely, standing up and looking searchingly into the faces of all present. "Once she reaches the height of her power, she will leave behind the last vestiges of her humanity. We defeat her, she will cease to exist, and all records of her existence will be wiped out. We, in the meantime, will remain wary of her. The Mortals of this town probably will not survive long without being under her spell, but we can, and we must."

Legolas' feelings were not in the least alleviated by this news. It was perilous to all of them, whether they got rid of her now or later. He himself was the most vulnerable, for even though he had been through countless experiences with Sues due to his being their primary lust object, Maribella would most likely exert all her power to overcome him.

"So what will we do?" To his own ears he sounded glum, defeated.

"We will continue as we always have," said Galadriel quietly. "You will all attend your classes as usual. But tomorrow, and maybe even for a few days, all of us will be required in the city for the annual meeting."

For years the Elves had been running the immense Mallorn Corporation which dealt with anything from the distribution of Tolkien-related merchandise to music recording companies (of which Maglor and Daeron, being experienced in the field, were in charge). When it was required, they would all take a few days off to attend to the running of their businesses, and tomorrow was the beginning of an annual series of meetings.

Legolas rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

This could be very difficult.

-o-

**Coming up next: Maribella does some intelligent things, like reading Jane Austen and complaining about Liam's absence from school.**

-o-

**A/N: Some of the Elves I've used are ones you may not recognise: Nimrodel was an Elf who got lost in the mountains looking for her lover Amroth and was never found, and Mithrellas was an Elf who married a Númenorean descendant living in Dol Amroth and then disappeared. Lothiriel's family, it was rumoured, had a strain of Elvish blood in them and it was probably from Mithrellas and her Mortal husband. Daeron was a minstrel from the First Age who ran off when he thought Lúthien of Doriath was dead. And Maglor, of course, is a Son of Fëanor whose fate is widely debated. I like to think he lived. :)**

**Like it? Hate it? I appreciate all reviews. :) Thank you all very much for reading!**


	3. Open Door

**Anonymous: **Oh, don't worry—there will be a Jacob! Or sort of. I'm still sorting out who I'm going to be putting in here, what's going to happen to whom, etc. because I rather impulsively wrote and posted the first chapter without much thought to what would happen next. :P Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. :)

-o-

**Open Door**

The next day was better…and worse.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

I'm sorry—I tend to naturally slip into Charles Dickens quotations when I am distressed, and my soul feels like a dark pit of despair only lit by thoughts of Legolas. And of course, the thought that my blue highlights were perfectly natural.

It was better because I awakened at the rising of the sun, and sang a song at the eastern window in the knowledge that the world was indeed so very glad to have me living in it. At the chorus someone from one of the houses down the road joined in, and I tolerated it because even bad singing can relieve someone's feelings considerably. Even if that other person sounded like they were wailing in agony and shouting, "Someone stop that freaking noise! Holy shit, my ears are bleeding!"

They weren't the words to the song, but I kept going. I didn't hear any noise. All I heard was my own voice, which I thought of as being worthy of topping every Idol winner since 2005. But I was too modest to speak these thoughts aloud, which only added to my virtuous nature.

It was worse because my fruit-throwing therapy would have to be stopped until Billy-Bob restored the pantry to its former glory. The only source of consolation I had upon this news was that there was plenty of tinned apricot sitting on the shelves.

It was worse because I was proposed to by two different boys from my Trig class. I was unable to answer them, my wide blue eyes (which were my curse, my flaw) filling with tears as they spoke the words. Was my incomparable beauty the only thing they ever thought about?

When I got to Biology—or was it English? I didn't remember—my heart sank with disappointment when I found that Liam was not there. I had wanted to confront him over his discriminatory behaviour. And maybe get a chance to let our souls communicate with one another again, maybe this time in Italian.

The entire lot of them weren't there at lunch.

"Where are they all?" I asked Laura. She looked at me blankly, once again in admiration of the aura of intelligence I emanated.

"Every once in a while they all go down to the city. Cahir and Gabrielle O'Neill are involved in business or something. The rest of them probably just go so that they have an excuse to wag class."

"Why do they all live together?"

Laura shrugged. "They're somehow related. Some of them are just friends of the family, though. They're beautiful but…seriously, don't waste your time."

I wasn't going to waste my time at all. I would use it productively and succeed in two-timing the musicians Matt and Darren.

Besides, I knew that Laura was only jealous of me and was afraid that I'd steal Matt from her. Which was exactly what I planned to do whilst I was waiting for an Elf to come along. But I kept thinking of Liam, which was inexplicable and utterly stupid.

I went home, waving off the steadily-growing entourage of Mortal boys following me around. There was one particularly persistent one—I think his name was Jack—whom I thought was fairly cute. If it weren't for the fact that I was certain the Prince of Mirkwood would appear at any moment and be able to see beneath my numerous imperfections in time and we would be together forever in an obsessive relationship, I might've decided to go out with Jack instead.

I went to check my emails. I had about fifty of them.

"Maribella," my mother wrote,

Fritzel's father has misplaced his tie. You know, that red one. Were you the last one to wear it around your head in imitation of Jack Sparrow? How many guys have asked you out? What's your favourite colour? Do your ears hang low and do they wobble to and fro? Does your father have a good supply of fruit?

-Mum

I checked the next email. It was from Mum again.

Maribella,

It's been five minutes! Why aren't you replying? Fritzel's father needs that tie! It means a lot to him!

-Mum

I deleted it.

The next email was a review alert for a Lord of the Rings fanfiction I had written.

OMG this is so awsum leggi is so hot lol rite moar!1!

I replied to it with several smiley faces. Finally, one good thing had happened in my life—someone had recognised my writing talents.

Maribella,

I have waited precisely ten minutes and thirty-three seconds. If you don't respond within two minutes, I will hack into your Facebook account and update your status to 'I don't care about my suffering step-grandfather or his tie'.

-Mum

Almost instantly I sank into depression once more, my elation now gone. My parents never understood me. No one understood me. Tears threatened to spill over, called forth by the sorrow in the depths of my soul. All I wanted was to be loved. Only one person could save me, and he was immortal, and probably fictional.

"Mum," I wrote back,

WTF? Calm down lol i'm looking 4 his tie now. nup can't find it I think fritzel's cousin flushed it down the toilet haha yeah the fruit's good but billy bob ran out I got 2 get sum moar and I cant count how mny guys asked mi out lmao!1! my fave colur is the collour of legolas' eyes :) ;) :P :( :/ :D

-Maribella

I logged off and heard the door creak open. Then it fell off its hinges.

"Maribella?" called Billy-Bob after the echoes had subsided.

"Yes, I'm here," I called out in a voice as melodious as the Vienna Boys' Choir.

"Oh. Good."

I appeared in the loungeroom. Billy-Bob scratched his head in confusion as he looked at the fallen door at his feet.

"I was sure the sticky tape would fix that," he sighed.

"Sticky tape doesn't fix broken hearts or doors," I said, feeling sudden wisdom spout out of me from long-forgotten origins. Probably from my spleen.

He stared at me.

I had to keep reminding myself that people in Sporks were simply not used to my blinding intellect.

"By the way…have you seen the watermelon that I had in the fridge? It seems to have disappeared."

"Some crazy person probably stole it and whacked the pieces across town with a cricket bat," I replied, knowing that he wouldn't understand the irony. Poor Billy-Bob had so much to learn. And I had to get a new cricket bat, because the melon had split the wood nearly in half. I sighed. I had so many imperfections. Even my ability to fly on delicate wings of sparkling pink and silver was all worth nothing compared to what I wanted right now…to fix Billy-Bob's cricket bat with the powers of my mind.

I decided to try it. Fixing the blue of my eyes, deeper than the deepest sea filled with coral of every hue, upon the mangled cricket bat, I willed it with all my strength to piece itself back together.

An hour later the silicon glue had nearly finished drying. The bits on the walls and kitchen bench had dried as well. Feeling half-satisfied—for I was never truly happy except in my dreams—I took the bat upstairs and put it in my room, where it would sit gloomily in the corner to remind me of everything I wasn't. Girls who were perfect did not feel the need to smash apples to pieces, and thus I found another flaw in my character.

The next day, Liam wasn't there.

The day after that, Liam still wasn't there.

The day after that day, Liam wasn't there yet again.

I couldn't help but feel that his absence was somehow caused by me. I was bound to cause destruction and fear wherever I went. Such was my curse.

I had nearly forgotten about Liam and his model-like entourage—mainly due to the fact that I had spent the last few nights helping Billy-Bob fix the front door with papier-maché—when I graced the cafeteria with my presence on Friday morning.

Sitting at the table of beautiful people were…the beautiful people. My heart raced at a frightened pace when I saw Liam.

There was another boy I hadn't seen before sitting with them. He had blond hair, like Liam, but it was a dark golden colour worn in a long plait down his back.

I was sure they were all hiding something. Maybe they were secretly Vikings. Or vampires.

I was about to ask who he was when Laura, without even looking up, answered my unspoken question. "That's Gerard de Fleur. He's Liam's cousin. Goes to uni just across the road. Totally hot, but so not worth your time."

It was the second time this week that she'd told me that. Obviously she was referring to the fact that accepting a proposal from him would be a waste of time, because there were so many others who were much more worthy of me. Such as Liam Greenlee.

I skipped happily to whatever class it was that I had with Liam. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be filled with angst at the thought of seeing him, so I rearranged my countenance into one of sorrow. But the thought of seeing him caused nervous joy to overflow in me, so I smiled, causing a random boy in the hall to faint. Then I reminded myself of all the terrible suffering I had endured during the week, so I frowned again. And so it went, as I constantly rearranged my facial expressions to suit my mood until I got to the room.

Were I to become a famous actress, I was sure that my ability to pull every face known to humankind would dazzle them.

Just before I walked in, I pulled out some Mr Sheen and subtly sprayed it on my top. It was figure-hugging but still very proper even though the lace-lined neckline plunged just enough to allow a view of my ample chest, which was far too large for my slim figure. Would Liam Greenlee, Jack, Gary, Alex, Rob, or Rick notice any of these many blemishes?

I sat down.

"Hello," said a quiet voice. I looked up, feeling my heart hammering against my ribcage frantically and sure that it was Liam.

It was actually my own voice. Liam had silently taken his place next to me without a word and had now looked up in my direction, no doubt wondering who could possibly speak one word with such musical passion. I had sung it to him in the key of B flat.

He was still leaning as far away from me as the table allowed. I wondered if Mr Sheen was a little too powerful for the occasion. Such a romantic scent should be used sparingly.

"Hello," he answered, rather stiffly. I stared at him in amazement. He really could have been a model, with his perfectly styled blond hair and slim but muscular physique.

After a few minutes of awkward ogling on my part, he cleared his throat and said, "You must be Maribella Suell."

My crystalline azure orbs widened in shock. He was trying to make conversation. Last time I checked, he despised me.

"How do you know my name?" I whispered.

"Because you stood on a table in the cafeteria and sang a song about your name to the tune of _You Raise Me Up_."

"Oh." I still didn't understand. How did he know that I had done that if he hadn't been there all week? I thought about it some more. It was possible that he had heard the reprise before school today.

Fortunately, Mr. Spanner started class then. I didn't know which class it was until he mentioned microscope slides. Surreptitiously I took the immense bulk of bound paper that comprised _The Complete Works of Jane Austen_ and put it back into my bag. I could take it back out later during the class if I got bored with looking at microscope slides. A little light reading never hurt anyone.

Liam was about to look into the microscope but his beautiful eyes looked so unfocused that I took it off him.

"Maribella, what are you—"

"It's for your own good," I replied, in a maternal but young and sweet tone, so that he would know how selfless I was, protecting him from the evil wiles of the local optometrist. I looked into the microscope, humming a little tune as I went along. Liam leaned further away. I knew then that he, too, had cause to admire the glorious splendour of my beauty.

"Booglephase," I said, confidently.

Liam looked confused. "I'm sorry, I—"

"My blue highlights are natural," I said, affronted. "Next slide."

I finished off the lab within five minutes. I had written down all the names of the stages of mitosis, to which I had jokingly referred as My Toesies. When Liam continued to fix his impassive stare at me, I sighed and looked away. Would no one ever understand my humour?

I wondered if Elves had eyes like Liam's. Immediately suspicious, I leaned over to see whether Liam was writing in Elvish. He was writing in English. I narrowed my eyes. It was highly suspect behaviour.

"Did you get contacts?" I asked quickly, in order to justify why I was sitting on half his seat and he was slowly sliding off of it.

"No."

I intelligently deduced from his response that his eyes were indeed naturally blue.

Mr. Spanner came near our table. He nearly reeled backwards when he came near me, leaning over and opening the window. I smiled up at him, silently thanking him that he had opened the window just so that the sun could shine down upon my form, causing the glitter on my carefully chosen clothes to sparkle and glisten. I must have been a wondrous sight, for he kept his distance.

Either that, or the household cleaning products I had used copiously in the place of deodorant were having a strange effect on every male in the room. I always knew Value Pack Windex was better than Estée Lauder.

I was nearly sitting on top of Liam and clutching the microscope and several assorted slides possessively to my well-formed bosom. He coughed.

"Er…I beg your pardon, but would you mind—"

"Oh, sure," I said, knowing that he wanted to copy the brilliant lab report I had just finished. I passed it to him and shot him a dazzling smile as I shifted my weight so that I was sitting on his lap. It only occurred to me just then that I had not let him finish one sentence for the entire duration of our meaningful conversation, except for 'no'. It was probably just as well, otherwise he may have given away some information that he might've regretted later.

I wanted to find out what that information was.

"Are you a mythical being?" I asked conversationally.

He shifted a little, looking rather uncomfortable. Evidently he knew that my extraordinary powers of deduction would result in my discovering what his true nature was.

"Not to my knowledge," he replied eventually, his voice sounding a little strained. I moved slightly so that he could regain the free use of his hands, which now had red marks shaped like the creases in my pink, sparkling skirt. His hands were sparkling.

Immediately realisation dawned on me, like the sun rising on a winter morning and tinging the horizon with crimson.

"I know what you are," I whispered, with my forehead to his.

For a moment he looked panicked. "Oh?"

"You _sparkle_," I said with the air of one who has much wisdom to her years. "That means you're a—"

The bell rang. "Class dismissed!" bellowed Mr. Spanner.

I don't think I'd ever seen anyone move like Liam did in that moment, as he dashed towards the door within seconds with such graceful fluidity and superhuman speed that I was left stunned in his wake. A shower of sparkles fell around me, but that was because I was using my mental powers to cause a small spectacle (I felt guilty about that afterward, because I had never in my entire life deliberately tried to attract attention to myself).

It only served to confirm my belief that Liam and his family were not human.

Jack skipped happily to my side as I stared at the door through which Liam had just bounded. He picked up my books and smiled. I imagined him with a wagging tail. And horns. And warts. And a Ronald McDonald costume. He'd look terrible.

I let him talk but I wasn't really listening. As we headed down the hall, Gary shoved Jack aside, sending my books flying. I vaguely inclined my head in response to the question he asked just as a Year Twelve guy barrelled into both of them, and all three raced around frantically to pick up my books for me. Some boy from the Year Nine class happened to pass and I bestowed a kind and yet flirtatious smile on him. He grinned at me and we started talking against the attractive backdrop of the brawl that was beginning behind me. Obviously he hoped that I had cougar tendencies.

I made a mental note to include him on my List of Potential Boyfriends. Maybe he could be a part-time boyfriend just to make the challenge of two-timing several supernatural beings a little more interesting.

I got home and randomly cried for a few hours. The clouds mourned with me, pouring out a misty dew upon the earth in the early hours of the evening. Then I cried some more when I realised that I'd left my suede shoes out on the veranda.

There was no point in staying up so I went to bed early. Delicate crystal tears fell and soaked into the pillow. When would my life ever improve? Everything was so horrible. My selflessness and kindness were only ever repaid with storms that wrecked perfectly good suede shoes.

My only hope lay in the hands of an Elf.

-o-

**A/N: I've had quite a few "Where's Jacob?" type questions, so I'll answer that one here: There will be a Jacob, but it'll be a few chapters until we see him. And no, I won't tell you who I've chosen for his part—where's the fun in that? ;)**

**Big thank yous all for the alerts/reviews/faves. Don't forget to tell me what you think of the story! I always like to hear your opinions. :)**


	4. A Non Event

**Argillain Estallon:** Thank you so much! I did base parts of Maribella's character on the Bella from Twilight but the rest of it is just pure nonsense. =D Thank you for reviewing and I hope you will continue to read and enjoy this story. :)

-o-

**A Non-Event**

The next morning I got up, looking in the mirror and inwardly cheering as I realised that I had achieved my lifelong goal of managing to wake up and still look flawless. Actually, I discovered very early in life that I always looked flawless, but this time I had tested my strength and had applied enough eye make up to make Lady Gaga proud before going to bed. None of it was smudged despite all the laws of logic. My goal had finally been realised.

Then I checked the time and also realised that I had fifteen minutes to get to school.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice. Literally, because I dropped the whole lot and Billy-Bob walked in and slipped in it before I had the chance to warn him. I dashed out the door and ran barefoot to the car. Seven minutes. I would just have to get dressed while I was driving.

With all the expertise of Mr. Bean, I kept one foot on the accelerator and slid one leg into my skinny jeans, hitting the indicator with my elbow as I approached a roundabout. I turned with one hand on the steering wheel and the other yanking my pants up. Gyrating from side to side as I tried to pull the tight denim material onto my hips, I nearly missed the school. I slammed on the breaks, threw my Volkswagen into reverse and sped backwards into the car park, sending students and teachers skittering out of the way. I screeched to a halt in front of a random flowerbed, in which a sign that proclaimed, "STAFF CAR PARK" stood proudly on its steel pole.

Two minutes until homeroom. I stuffed my pink, scintillating, sparkling, shimmering top into my bag and pulled my equally pink silken dressing gown over my singlet.

Trying to look as natural as possible and at the same time sorrowfully beautiful, I tossed the car door open and emerged in my half-changed state. The wind came along and blew my hair back and I took the opportunity to strike a pose for the invisible paparazzi guy I knew was hiding somewhere behind a bush. I duly hummed 'Paparazzi' under my breath as I slowly turned and struck another pose, just to make the moment more authentic.

What a pity it was that the moment was short-lived and spoiled by the fact that I had a class on in a minute or two. Everything that was horrible and laden with misery always found me. I could not escape from it.

I took a deep breath and made my way purposefully towards the main building, my dressing gown billowing out impressively behind me. A teacher walking past gaped. Several Year 12 boys stared as I went past, their eyes glazing over. Of course I felt uncomfortable, due to my purity of heart, and I lowered my eyes shyly to avoid their gaze.

As I walked to class, I distracted myself from my speculations on Liam Greenlee's true nature by thinking about Jack, Gary, and several other guys whose names I couldn't remember. My dark hair with its natural blue highlights rippled behind me as I went. The boys back home treated me with either total worship or total contempt. I sighed as sad memories flooded back into my mind unbidden. Here just about every teenage male thought of me as a goddess who had deigned to clothe herself in human form and grace Sporks High School with her presence. My occasional clumsiness and my wide ocean blue eyes were probably seen as endearing instead of the pathetic character flaws they were.

I changed out of my dressing gown, singlet and skinnies once I got to the gym, because we had PE. I hated PE because I was just too good at it. I was also incredibly bad at it, depending on which mood I was in. In order to achieve a well-balanced character I decided to do both today.

We were playing Gaelic handball and I was alternating between being superlatively better than everyone else and tripping over my own feet. It was difficult to maintain, but it had to be done for the sake of developing my character.

It was then that it happened.

It wasn't in slow motion, and it wasn't in fast motion either. It was more like a normal speed.

Liam had the ball and I hadn't had the time to even ask for it.

_And he passed it to me_.

Although I was in total shock I caught it and quickly palmed it off to some other girl on my team. I then marched right up to Liam.

"How did you do that?" I demanded.

He looked down at me, the gym lights flickering behind his head and casting an otherworldly light over him. He looked godly. "I beg your pardon?"

"You knew exactly when to pass me the ball," I whispered, half terrified.

"Maribella, you were the only one open."

"But you _knew_." I stood close to him, looking up through my long curling eyelashes. "You still knew. When are you going to trust me enough to tell me what's going on?"

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. I allowed myself a tiny smile, knowing that I had defeated him.

"I'll give you time," I said quietly. "But I know someday you will tell me."

And with that I walked off.

Then something smacked into my head and I sprawled out on the ground, dazed.

"Pick me up," was my last order before the world turned black around me.

-o-

When I woke up, I was in the sickbay. I sat bolt upright.

"Legolas, wherefore art thou, Legolas!" I cried out randomly.

The nurse stared blankly at me.

"Liam?" she asked, looking around her, obviously frightened of the aura of purity I emanated as I sat up, clutching my head. There was a small lump on the back of it, and it was very sore. I sighed. So not in style. Since when do people go around with lumps on the backs of their heads?

Liam Greenlee stalked out from behind the door, his blond hair hanging in a sexy way over his blue eyes. If Liam's eyes were a river, I would drown in them.

The look he shot me gave me the impression that he wanted me to drown too.

I couldn't imagine why.

"Can I please go back to class now?" he asked the nurse. Evidently he was afraid of my aura as well. I searched within my soul for the inner dimmer switch and turned down the shine.

Jack burst out of nowhere then. "Maribella!" he gasped. About five other guys stepped out from behind him in a V formation, fell immediately on their knees and melodramatically intoned "Maribellaaaaa!" in harmony.

Liam turned to the nurse again and said quickly, "See? There are many to take care of her."

I narrowed my too-large eyes in a way that was both adorable and intimidating. Why did Liam hate me so much? Was it the Pine-O'Cleen? Was it the musical I had organised in front of his locker before lunch the other day? Was it the fact that my eyes, more azure than an azure body of water containing azure ceruleanity with the sun reflecting from its waters in a sparkling way that would be the envy of all vampires who sparkled, were just too beautiful?

Before I could ask him any of these questions—and before the nurse could protest—Liam made his way out of the room swiftly without a second glance back at me.

"I want to know why I'm lying for you!" I yelled at his quickly retreating form.

"Maribella, your father is here," said the nurse. With a note of relief, I thought.

In a display of something that might resemble the actions of a normal teenager, I sullenly stomped down to Billy-Bob's car to be taken home.

That night, I decided to go to bed early. Again. I stomped upstairs, ignoring the singing that was beginning outside as my new-found fans gathered around my house and sent up tuneless melodies into the night (causing more screaming from the neighbours—I had a feeling I lived with people who liked experimental hardcore).

I was consumed with thoughts of Liam Greenlee. It wasn't just because he looked like a male model and could have passed for Legolas if he had had longer hair. It was because there was a connection between us despite his discriminatory attitude towards perfect and yet severely flawed individuals. I was a walking contradiction and obviously he could sense that.

With a sigh I flipped my hair, sending out a few rays of purity to illuminate my way along the dark corridor to my room. I stopped at the bathroom on the way to take three Ibuprofen tablets. These were followed by Vitamin B for my hair, Evening Primrose Oil for feminine dual asset maintenance, another Ibuprofen, an Aspirin and then a glass of champagne to healthily wash it all down.

Then, as the pain eased, I slowly began to drift off on the path on which my dreams led me.

That was the first night I dreamt of Liam Greenlee.

He was wrapped in a Lady-Gaga-esque costume of police tape (because I didn't think Lady Gaga was referred to enough in this meaningless chapter of my life) and was the lead vocalist in a hardcore band. As he screeched and squawked melodiously I called out to him, but he disappeared. I ran after him, not knowing in which direction to turn, when suddenly Matt Kinslaye appeared in front of me in all his gothic glory, bedecked in black and flapping his arms at me. I screamed, in order to make this dream more evocative even though it made not a whit of sense, and again the scene changed. Liam Greenlee was in the pink sparkly dress that I had worn in Biology the other day, seated in one of two elaborately decorated Victorian chairs. There was a small table in between the chairs, which was laden with china plates and tea cups.

He picked up a teapot and said demurely, "Would you care for some tea and a sticky bun?"

I woke up and screamed.

-o-

**A/N: I'm sorry that it took a little longer to update this time round. Life has been very busy and stressful but hopefully once the semester's over my writing can get back on track. :)**

**In the meantime, if you have any questions, comments or ideas, please leave them for me in a review. Your input matters, guys! :)**


	5. In Which Legolas Discusses Matters

**Vilinye: Maribella, a jerk? How could you think such a thing? :P Sure you can borrow her sport skills! I'm sure she wouldn't mind...*irrelevant evil laughter* Thanks for reviewing!**

**-o-**

**A/N: It's been a while...*winces* But now that exams and everything to do with uni are over til March [insert excited and slightly irritating squees here], the updates will be quicker!**

**I always say that and somehow most of the time it never happens...**

**Thank you all for the reviews/alerts/favourites! Without irony I can easily say it makes my day when I see FFN alerts in my inbox.**

-o-

**In Which Legolas Discusses Matters**

Legolas all but ran out of the sickbay.

It took a little bit of running for him to escape what probably amounted to a force field. Once he did, though, his head suddenly cleared and he felt himself able to think properly again. It was an immense relief…and also a slight worry. He did not like the way his thoughts were unexpectedly and immediately thrown into disarray and unwound like a limp piece of string whenever Maribella's rapidly expanding 'aura of influence', as the Elves he lived with called it, happened to touch him.

He was right: this Sue was incredibly powerful. Clueless, obviously, and with the intellectual wit of a hill troll, but powerful. Powerful enough to be able to interfere with his cognitive capabilities whenever she was anywhere near him.

"I must take care," he told himself, clenching his teeth as he said it as if emphasising the point. It was probably a good thing that the hallway he was currently ploughing through was empty. "She will bring ruin upon us all if I stray even a little."

The worst thing about it was that he in no way _wanted_ to stray at all. If it ever did happen any time in the near future, it would not be due to his lack of self-control. There was only one other time that he could recall which involved him being completely enslaved to a Sue. He had fallen beneath the spell of one Sue, many thousands of years ago during the War of the Ring, who had enslaved even Master Elrond the Wise and had nearly all Middle-Earth beneath her foul influence apart from a few who managed by some grace of the Valar to survive and eventually overthrow her. (1)

The thought caused him to shudder. That was one particular time he did not wish to revisit.

He fished around in his pocket for his locker keys. His phone suddenly vibrated and he jumped, his hand instinctually brushing against his right hip where a dagger had once been worn in its scabbard.

Hey. Need to talk to you after school.

That was the text message. Legolas glanced at the clock on the wall. It was still a good few hours until school finished…which meant a good few hours spent worrying about what this could possibly mean. Usually Arianne's texts were peppered with random smiley faces and inside jokes. It was unusual for her to be so to-the-point in her text messages. Which could only mean that her grandfather—with the generation gap between grandfather and granddaughter spanning approximately a few thousand years—was sending her to talk to him.

He slid his phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket, completely not looking forward to the prospects of heading to La Shove this afternoon and, he guessed, being forced to talk about the creature whose clutches he had just escaped.

And to Arianne, too...

This was definitely not his day.

-o-

Not far from Sporks was a small town near the beach called La Shove, well-known for its alternative lifestyle-pursuing population. Folk from Sporks called it a weirdo-haven; people in La Shove looked down upon the inhabitants of Sporks as being enslaved to the Establishment.

In any case it was a good place to live if one did not wish to be ostensibly different from everyone else. Everyone who lived at La Shove, after all, embraced anti-conformity and rebelled against that which represents all evil, the Corporate Mainstream Establishment, valuing diversity and ensuring that the outcasts of society found a home amid the ranks of the differently normal.

It was just as well, because Rivendell or at least some of its original inhabitants continued to live on quietly amid the hippies, Goths, punks and Victorian-era enthusiasts who all managed to live peacefully together. There were even some there who habitually wore Elven clothing and greeted each other with _mae govannen_.

Ellrod Masterson was quite famous among the latter for his impeccable knowledge of everything to do with Middle-Earth and its history. Still, he only wore mediaeval-themed clothing occasionally and did not associate himself with any particular lifestyle. Most people assumed he was happy to run a small (and rather exclusive) commune with his twin sons Eldan and Elroy. And because Ellrod and his followers embraced a non-mainstream life and alternative religion, no one questioned them and they were left to their own devices.

Lord Elrond was hovering anxiously over a young woman barely out of her teens who was half sprawled on the couch, her punk-style eye make-up looking rather smudged. He coughed.

"Did you send it?"

The response was a rather apathetic (and slightly phlegmy), "Yup."

Lord Elrond sighed, bringing his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, a rather well-known habit of his when he was feeling stressed. He had no control over what his twenty-year-old descendent did with her time, but...what on earth had she been doing last night? Her current manner of speaking sounded suspiciously like that of one who was nearly too hung-over to function... "Arianne, I know you are tired, but this is a matter of great importance."

"I am fully aware of that, Daeradar," Arianne said, sitting up groggily. With a wince, she clutched at her head and sniffled. "But I'd really like to know what's going on here. I've texted Legolas and told him that we need to meet up. Now I want to know exactly what it is we're meeting up _for_."

Any die-hard fangirl who knew that Legolas was a real person would have committed horrible and inventive murder for the opportunity to say, "I've texted Legolas."

Arianne had grown up with Legolas. She distinctly remembered being piggy-backed on the beach by the erstwhile Prince of Mirkwood when she was four years old.

Elrond sat down amid the myriad colourful cushions of a chair close to the couch where Arianne was now ensconced, staring at him with her bleary eyes and skilfully balancing a plate of biscuits on her blanket-covered lap. "Were you not told of..." He cleared his throat. "Of a certain creature named...Maribella Suell?"

"Hmm." She looked up at the ceiling. "Not much. I did hear of some chick at the high school, though. The guys are all crazy over her, apparently." She shifted her weight a little and pulled out the sorry remains of what must have been, at some point, a box of tissues, and which was now mangled beyond identification. "I'm guessing that's Maribella."

"You are correct," said Lord Elrond, watching with mild interest as Arianne pulled out an equally-mangled tissue to blow her nose. "She is a Sue."

Arianne froze.

"Are those things still around?"

The erstwhile lord of Rivendell chuckled mirthlessly. "Yes, but I confess that I did not foresee one this powerful arriving in Sporks."

"So you want me to go find out what's going on?"

"Yes. I am required at this afternoon's Elvish reading, and in any case my arrival in Sporks will cause a stir." He smiled. "Sporks and La Shove will not relinquish their lifestyle disagreements and I am afraid that walking around ostensibly dressed as one from the La Shove community will do nothing to dispel the distrust."

"Fair enough." Arianne slowly got to her feet, picking up the jacket that she had left draped over the couch. "Well, I'm off. Apparently Waking Dread still needs a drummer."

Elrond could not help cringing at the name Arianne so casually dropped. Young people these days simply had no idea that their horrible band names in far gone days had once been used to describe terrors that once existed in Middle-Earth and now was only the stuff of ancient nightmares...

What he said was, "You do not look...erm, well enough to go anywhere...are you sure you—"

Arianne bent down and kissed his cheek. "See you at dinner." She made her way to the door and reached out for the door handle, but paused as if she had remembered something. "By the way...I'm not hungover."

Elrond nearly jumped."What?"

"I spent my night outside in the chapel," she explained, waving her hand in the general direction of 'outside', which contained an old but well-preserved building dating back to the 1850s and which had never actually been used as a chapel on account of the estate's owner passing away. Arianne, Daeron and Maglor had set up a stereo system in there. "Cedric gave me a cold yesterday and I couldn't sleep properly."

The door slammed shut before Elrond could even begin to form a reply.

She was tired and her eyes were bloodshot because she had a cold.

Why had he not thought of that?

-o-

Legolas had never felt particularly comfortable anywhere where there were a lot of people. Especially people of the female persuasion. This was probably due to the fact that whether they were corporate businesswomen in their mid-forties living in the city or hippie teenagers hanging out in La Shove, he managed to attract the attention of nearly any female who happened to see him. Not even the cutting of his long locks had changed that.

He also attracted the attention of Mortal males who caught their significant female others ogling him.

Somehow he did not find it particularly appealing to be considered "hot" by Mortal teenagers with multiple piercings. But he had to come here anyway.

Bloody Mortals.

And it wasn't that he didn't like Arianne...it was just that he did not really feel up to discussing matters with a young woman whose knowledge of Sues was still rather limited.

"Hey!"

The sudden shout alerted him to the fact that he had nearly collided with someone and he quickly slammed to a halt. He found himself looking down into Aragorn's bright blue eyes, and Arwen's face and hair—or at least, what would have been Arwen's hair had not its owner dyed it a bold copper red colour.

And whilst she was on the attractive side of things, she was nowhere near as beautiful as her foremother long ago had been.

Especially not when she looked so hung-over.

She held up her hands. "Dude. You nearly ploughed through me."

"Sorry about that," Legolas apologised, smiling a little at the memory of his dearest friend that stirred briefly in him. Aragorn would have said something similar. Only maybe not quite so...colloquially.

He suppressed the urge to laugh at the idea of noble, kingly Aragorn saying, "dude".

Aragorn's descendent just waved her hand. "That's okay," she said, sitting down right where she was on the footpath just outside an ancient metal piece of architecture that barely deserved the name of 'garage'. The rolling door was only half-closed and didn't block out the sound of voices arguing over guitar chords. Legolas raised an eyebrow.

"Should you not be in there with them?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the dilapidated shed.

She reached into her pocket, her hand reappearing with two or three tissues scrunched in her fist.

"I've been in there most of the afternoon, and as per usual we got nothing done," she sighed exasperatedly, having blown her nose loudly enough for several people in the street to turn around. "That's what you get for being the only girl in band otherwise comprised of guys. Mostly imbecilic guys at that. By the way." She held up her tissues. "I am not hung over."

Oh.

"So," she continued, shifting her weight so that she was facing him and remaining completely oblivious to his bewilderment at her somehow knowing the thoughts that had been running through his mind concerning her appearance. "Daeradar sent me to ask you about what's going on with the new Sue. Mirabelle, or something."

"Maribella," corrected Legolas automatically, then feeling the depression set in again when he realised that he seemed to be the only one who remembered the Sue's name. Great Lords of the West, he was losing it already.

"Right. Well, from what I've heard, we're in for a shitload of trouble." She bit her lip. "Or is even that an understatement?"

"One of the biggest I've heard from you," Legolas said dryly.

"Thank you," came the answer. "And now please tell me exactly what's going on."

"It is difficult to know where to begin, Arianne," sighed the Elf, running a hand through his hair. It was tradition for Elrond to name his female descendents and he often bestowed upon them pretty, florid names in memory of the daughter he had lost. Arianne, of all things, was the name he had given to the young woman who was now sitting before Legolas, with her dyed-red hair, ridiculously chunky black boots and nearly raccoon-like eyes.

He wondered momentarily whether Arianne and Maglor shared tips on eyeliner application whenever they saw one another.

"I have the time," she said. "And you know that Daeradar has had extensive experience with Sues. He just needs to know what's going on if he's going to give you any help." She shook her head. "Here I am, talking about battling fictional characters. That's the sort of thing you read about in parody fanfiction."

Legolas felt himself smile a little. "But am I not also meant to be a fictional character? Yet still you speak to me, for you know I am real. If I am real, the chances of Sues also being real are high indeed."

"Point taken. Now stop stalling."

Dutifully, Legolas recounted what he had experienced so far, which included everything from her tragic yet somehow laughable history to her odd obsession with using cleaning products as perfume. Arianne remained quiet throughout what was gradually amounting to a rant, without the usual questioning that usually accompanied any attempt to explain the phenomenon of the Mary Sue to her.

He fell silent. Arianne sniffled again. The noise was rather irritating, but being mostly of Mortal descent she could not help the occasional illness that often assailed her kind.

"I'm really not too sure what we're going to be able to do about this," she said eventually. "Which is why I think we'll have to resort to drastic measures."

It wasn't what he wished to hear, though he knew he would hear it. Legolas could feel his body tensing, an old warrior instinct that had never completely disappeared. The habits which he had gained through years of training were not easily lost. "What sort of drastic measures?" He knew his voice was terse.

"Fricked if I know." Arianne stood up. "Look, I'm going to talk to Daeradar, and probably the others too. We'll think of something."

It was practically code for, 'Just keep going as you are.' In this case, even Arianne doubted that Lord Elrond would have any better solutions than those which the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had devised.

But Legolas did not want to keep going as he was. Sooner or later, the proximity of the Sue — not to mention, the danger of simply letting her plunge Sporks into complete urple oblivion — would drive him mad.

"But—"

To his great annoyance, he was cut off by the sudden appearance of Cedric, Arianne's boyfriend. He was shaking his head with mock disappointment. "Anne, seriously, how much have you had?"

"What, aspirin?"

The pair immediately launched into a friendly banter regarding the origins of Arianne's cold. Legolas was fuming. How dare he show up during an important time such as this! Did he not know what kind of terror-fraught danger he was in?

On second thoughts, probably not.

Arianne turned around briefly. "Hey, Leg—um, Liam? Talk to you later." The meaningful look she shot him was redundant. He knew when not to keep talking.

He nodded numbly as Arianne and Cedric disappeared into the garage behind them, within which voices could still be heard, punctuated with the occasional chord. Cedric's arm was draped around her waist, and he did not let go even when they had to bend down to get past the half-closed garage door.

What he would give, sometimes, to be as carefree as the young Mortals he knew, whose primary concerns were based on maintaining their part-time jobs and creating music. Whilst _he_ was stuck trying to evade the clutches of a malevolent character who should not have existed even in the realm of fiction.

He bit back the groan of frustration that arose in the back of his throat.

Because being an Elf? Yeah, sometimes, it sucked.

-o-

(1) My story "Fair Wanderer, Thou Makest Me Sicker" explains that particular incident in detail!

-o-

**Any comments? I've been receiving some absolutely awesome ideas lately which I have been adding to my (rather vague) plan for this fic, so if you have any others then please speak up! Do tell me whether you liked this story or not. Thank you very much for taking the time to read. :)**


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